by RJ Johnson
“He’s not getting tired,” Meade said dejectedly through his heaving chest.
“Can you beat him?” Emeline asked.
He hesitated, “I’m not sure.”
“I don’t think you even need to!” Emeline said, “You’ve proven so much already just lasting the last four rounds with him. Think about it, I can stop the fight and no one would look at you twice. You could even make your money back by touring the circuit. I bet people know who you are now.”
Meade shook his head, “I beat him here and now, or I fail. There’s no playing this off.”
The bell rang, signifying the fifth and final round. She stared at him, the white towel in her hands, her eyes glistening.
“You son of a bitch, I won’t watch you die,” Emeline snapped, and threw the towel at him as she stalked off.
Meade shrugged and shook his head. What the hell got into her?
Chau stood in the center of the ring waiting for him. He moved to the center and they touched gloves for the last time. Chau grabbed his gloves, and Meade looked into Chau’s eyes. What he saw there wasn’t rage, or anger, or even the dispassionate disconnect most fighters had when they were in the ring. Instead, there was only sadness and pain.
Chau drew Meade in gently, holding his wrists and whispered into his ear.
“I won’t be stopped. Greene is mine. I’m sorry it has to be this way.”
Meade stepped back, looking in disbelief at his opponent. Chau sort of smirked, nodded as if he were sorry, and then threw one of the hardest punches Meade ever took.
Meade woke up suddenly on the mat with the ref standing over him counting.
“Seven, eight…!”
Meade shook himself back together and he woozily grabbed the metal post next to where he had landed after Chau’s devastating blow to haul himself back up.
“Nine…” The ref grabbed Meade’s hands and looked at him in the eyes, looking for any indication of brain damage or concussion. He was sure there was at least some brain damage - though most of that probably came from things from before this fight. He was probably concussed too, but he wouldn’t let the ref know that.
“Last one of those. Next time you go down, fight’s over, you hear me?”
Meade snapped back to attention and hoped he could sell that he was all right to the ref.
“No!” Meade said, “I’m fine. Last round, let’s do this!”
The ref looked at him, and up at the arena crowd which had worked themselves into a frenzy. He glanced up at the Ambassador who nodded. The ref let go of Meade’s wrists and moved back to the center of the ring. He reset the fighters, who stood opposing each other, both looking more than a little beat up.
“Fight!”
Meade instantly retreated. He wouldn’t give Chau the satisfaction of catching him off guard like that again. The flashing circles were switching quickly between Zero-G and +5G. Chau was breathing heavily as he chased after him and he knew that this was the moment he had been waiting for.
He turned and moved towards a +5G circle. Chau followed and they cautiously traded blows, neither fighter landing a punch that gave them any sort of advantage. Meade moved as close to the edge of the +5G as he dared, feeling the slight tugs of the enhanced gravity catch at parts of his back.
Chau moved and threw everything he had in a punch towards Meade hoping to finish him off. Meade leapt back, timing it perfectly.
The mat switched from +5G to Zero-G. Meade leaned back and watched in nearly slow motion as Chau’s massive fist moved in front of his face. He grabbed Chau’s fist, stepped back into the Zero-G Circle and jumped, twisting Chau’s arm as he rose, leveraging the man, flipping him heads over tails.
Meade landed on Chau’s back, with most of Chau’s upper chest and head in the circle. He wrenched the arm up and behind Chau’s back as hard as he could to keep Chau down far enough so that the ref could count his opponent out.
The ref began to count as Chau struggled to break Meade’s iron vise grip. Meade’s gloves were slick with sweat and were beginning to slip on Chau’s tawny arms, but he held fast. All he had to do was hold on for a few seconds and the circle would cycle back to +5G.
“Five!” The ref called out.
The crowd was on their feet, even the Ambassador had risen up to get a better look at Meade taking his opponent apart in the ring. They were chanting his name – not that he had noticed, intent as he was keeping Chau down in the enhanced gravity circle.
The circle flashed red and a red five flashed in the middle of the circle. Chau howled in pain as his head and upper chest were crushed by five times the normal gravity he was accustomed to. Meade got up and off of Chau’s back knowing the +5G circle would do the rest for him.
“Nine… ten!!” The ref counted Chau out and the arena exploded in cheers. The ref came up behind Meade and raised his arm up in the air signifying his victory.
Meade was almost too tired to care that he won. He was even too tired to figure out how much money he had just won for himself. After taxes and paying off all his debts, there probably wouldn’t be enough left for him to actually retire, but it might be enough to get him a big enough stake in a producing ORI mine and THAT might be enough to help him retire to one of the Homeworld’s Orbital cities.
“Ladies and Gentlemen!” the booming voice of the announcer blasted out of every speaker in the arena, “It is my pleasure to award tonight’s match to…” Suddenly, his mic was cut off in a sudden squeal of feedback to the consternation of the whole audience.
Meade looked over at the judges’ table where the announcer had been taken aside by three men in dark suits. Meade raised an eyebrow and turned to the ref, who had moved over to Kevin Chau to help him up and off the canvas.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer’s voice was much more subdued. “I’m afraid we’ve had a technical violation, please standby and hold all bets.”
A shiver of fear struck Meade. The crowd was unsure how to react as they murmured to each other, asking what violation the judges could be referring to. No one had any idea. The announcer, looking very pale, stepped away from the conferring judges and men in black suits and got back on the mic.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid there has been a technical violation during the fourth round.” The announcer said apologetically. “The Blue Corner has been cited for unsportsmanlike conduct during a count. Without this violation, the Red Corner would have won the match at the end of the fourth round. With this violation in mind, the judges have deliberated and decided to award the match, its purse and all rewards that entails to Kevin Chau.”
Meade went numb. He didn’t understand. What violation?
The crowd didn’t understand the judge’s decision either and the crowd’s protests grew louder, to the point where they were about to turn into a riot. Bookies nervously looked at each other, wondering what they should do and began to back away from the angry mob that had begun to form at the rail separating the audience and the bookies. No one knew if they should pay off bets for Chau or Meade. Everyone who had laid money on the match was demanding payment.
Emeline approached him shouting something, but Meade couldn’t hear a thing over the dull roar of the riotous crowd. Instead, he ignored her and kept walking to his dressing room, leaving her behind.
The Ambassador’s security chief leaned into the Ambassador and whispered something. Her entourage rose from their seats in the VIP box far above the arena. The danger and change in the crowd’s mood made it likely that a riot was imminent and the Ambassador needed to be made safe.
Meade moved back to his corner, and removed his mouth guard. He opened the door to the ramp leading back to his dressing room and walked slowly through it, ignoring the riot that was developing around him at the moment.
He had lost everything. He had won, but still, lost everything. He owed more money than he’d ever seen at one time to a man that wasn’t shy about disposing of people in a hole in the Martian desert.
Su
ddenly a Molotov cocktail flew over his head, striking the wire mesh on the ring’s cage. It burst into flame and the crowd cheered the destruction and chaos. A dozen Coalition MPs rushed into the arena and began spraying the crowd with dispersal foam. Fed from a small attachment to the Coalition MP’s ArmBars, they sprayed it without regard who they were gassing. The foam was designed to irritate the lungs, nose and skin and was very effective at taking the fight out of any rioter.
The crowd quickly gave up their fight as people trampled over each other to exit the arena before the Coalition MPs decided more drastic measures were needed to break up the riot.
Meade ignored the world that was falling apart around him in real time, and focused on his own personal world that was crashing down. Without any credits, or credit to be had, Palmetto was right, Meade was a dead man walking.
It was only a matter of time.
Buy Change in Management: A Jim Meade Martian PI Novel here!
Rosetta
As an added bonus, I’ve also included the first chapter to the sequel to Change in Management, Rosetta.
Here’s the synopsis:
Murder, betrayal, the fate of Humanity... it's all in a day's work for Jim Meade: Martian P.I.
In a slow orbit around the sun, just beyond Mars, a mining colony known as Rosetta houses thousands of Consortium citizens who mine the valuable ore Humanity uses for space travel. Over the last three years, Rosetta has grown exponentially, from a tiny mining colony, into an economic behemoth that threatens the delicate balance of power between The Consortium and Coalition - two nations who are still healing from a devastating nuclear war that turned Earth into a hellscape of hopelessness and despair.
After a prominent scientist for The Consortium dies in an apparent accident, Jim Meade is hired by the victim's family to find out what really happened to their father Dr. Sanjay Sinjakama. There, Meade finds himself caught up in a power struggle between the diabolical CEO of Nebula Mining Dimitri Koschei, and Lazarus Rincon, the charismatic leader of a vicious cult.
With the assistance of his friend and confidant (the beautiful Emeline Hunan), Meade races against the clock to find Sinjakama's murderer and prevent a catastrophic disaster that might mean the end of all life on Earth.
You can purchase Rosetta for your Kindle here
Enjoy!
Chapter One
“You think you’ve got enough to take it down do ya?” The man’s steely eyed gazed was fixed upon him, searching for something, anything that might give away what the slouching man sitting across the table from him held as hole cards.
“I think I have more than you do.” Jim Meade replied, a sly smile spreading across his face. He pushed one hundred credits into the pot. “Strike that,” Meade added another hundred credits to his bet, “I know I have more than you do, and if you’d ever learn how to bet Reggie, you wouldn’t be so damned easy to read.”
The miner’s face scrunched up in anger. Shaking his head, he laughs and throws his cards into the pile. “Take my credits you sunnabitch.”
Laughing Meade raked the credits into his pile. Flashing his cards face up, he shows the miner across from him a busted straight draw.
The miner’s eyes open wide in surprise and he began to curse loudly in Russian.
With a wide smile, Meade winked at the miner. “Like I said, still better than what you were holding.”
A loud bell rang and the mood in the noisy casino suddenly changed. Every game in the place suddenly came to a complete stop as every miner in the place looked up expectantly at the rotating electronic display positioned high above all their heads. The markets were about to open and the daily price of ORI was about to be announced. Depending on the price, a man might figure it was worth going to work that day, or whether to stay and hopelessly try and win his daily ration money from one of his fellow miners. The only person who won in that deal was the House - not that it ever stopped anyone from trying.
Meade shook his head. The last two weeks worth of ORI prices had been in the toilet. It was getting to the point where a man couldn't make a living and ended up spending more on supplies for his mining than what he made in daily ORI mining, some men were spending most of their life awake just to stay ahead of the game. The Coalition just couldn't keep up with The Consortium's recent price fixing.
A loud female voice came over the loudspeaker. "Daysol price of ORI is expected to sell at two hundred and fifty-two credits per troy ounce. Repeat, Daysol price of ORI is expected to sell at two hundred and fifty-two credits per troy ounce. The Coalition wishes you a good Daysol."
The grumbling became audible. One disagreeable miner in the back yelled out, "Fuck those price-fixing Consortium motherfuckers." A roar of approval came up from the crowd as the miner's companions around him cheered and clapped him on the back.
Meade shook his head. The Coalition was going to have a bigger problem than just a flagging economy on their hands sooner rather than later with these moles on Mars. Meade sighed, it wasn't his problem, and he'd best make his escape now before he had to spend the next five hours nodding sympathetically to all the men at the table and murmur appropriate disgust at the parties who might be at fault for the shitty economy.
Meade had no use for politics. Consortium or Coalition, it was all the same to him. He had no loyalty. He was what Martian citizens considered a Runabout – someone who was born on Mars and hadn't taken citizenship in either of the two major powers still jockeying for control over people.
Meade removed his hat and began scooping the chips into it.
“Gentlemen, I hate to take your leave so early…”
“Bullshit!” Ivan, another miner Meade had taken a fair amount of credits from that night, called out to him.
“But, I’d rather leave you something to feed your families with tonight.” Meade finished. He moved towards the door as the men and women behind him began jeering. "Good Sol, ladies and gents."
The ArmBar on his wrist buzzed again. Meade looked at the message and shook his head. It was bad enough it had rung in the middle of his hand. He had almost twitched while the miner was scrutinizing him for any sign of weakness. Fortunately, Meade had been playing cards long enough to be past such rookie mistakes. Almost anyways, Meade admitted to himself. No need to get overconfident. Rule number 15, and one he had the most trouble remembering.
Moving over to the bar, he spilled the chips onto the bar in front of the gorgeous bartender wearing an outfit that would be better used to catch fish rather than cover a woman's modesty.
“Another good night for you, yes?” A Ukrainian by birth, Roxanne had been scooped up early by The Consortium as an “entertainer” for miners living off of the Homeworld. After five years of torturous labor in the Consortium mining colonies on the moon, she had scraped enough together to pay off her contract to The Consortium. After being released from their service, she moved to Mars to work as a bartender in the largest casino on Mars. It was a better gig than the last one she had, and Roxanne liked to joke that she spent considerably less time on her back on Mars. Thousands of working men and women passed through the nearby spaceport every day, and it seems like none of them ever passed up a chance for a cold beer, a warm woman, or a friendly game of poker.
Meade finished dumping out the chits on the bar. Smiling broadly at the beautiful redheaded vixen, he waved his arms over his treasure for the night. “You could say that.”
Roxanne began stacking the chips into stacks. “You have all their take home money you know. Half of ‘em…”
“Half of ‘em have no business at that table to begin with.” Meade replied sharply. “No man stays away 'til it really matters. Rule numero 23.”
“Teaching ‘em all a lesson eh?” Roxanne smirked at him. “Big tough Runabout looking to prove himself smarter than all the moles eh?”
“Roxy, it takes more than smarts to know when you’ve had enough at the tables and I am just a cog in the grand wheel of karma helping those poor lost souls smarten up.�
� Meade winked at her. “Just settle me up and put it on my account.”
“The folks in the Deep seen enough troubles the last few years without you cleaning them out.” Roxanne added as she poured him a shot. Meade grabbed the proffered glass and slurped it down gratefully, the warm liquid traveling down his throat. Roxanne distilled her own whiskey, and she was damn good at it.
“It's not my fault the price of ORI dropped quicker than your panties after a bottle of tequila.” Meade shot back.
“The price of ORI...” Roxanne's voice dropped sarcastically as she leaned forward on her elbows watching the miners start another round, “always someone else who's responsible eh?” She nodded towards them, “They're gonna have to live on SUMP and crackers for the next two weeks thanks to you.”
“The Consortium opening up Rosetta fucked a lot of people's lives up, I'll give you that.” Meade raised his glass and saluted the men still in the poker game. “But you're mad at the wrong person hun. Get mad at the Consortium for wanting their little slice of the heavens and undercutting the Coalition's price ORI by sixty percent. Get mad at The Coalition for not subsidizing the ORI Mars is able to produce. Get mad at the Warlords for not investing in anything other than their own pathetic greedy lives.” He finished the drink and set the glass back on the bar. “I like my fruit, my hamburgers, a fine whiskey and at two and a half per ounce, eventually those fellas ain't gonna have too much money for me to take. I need all the extra those fellas can spare if'n I'm going to retire an orbital city someday.”
Roxanne snorted and took his glass, throwing it haphazardly into the bin. “I'm so happy it's going to a good cause.”
Meade lowered his voice, “Well Roxy, if it'll restore your faith in the better angels of my nature, bring 'em a top shelf bottle on me. Maybe the buzz will help the boys come up with a decent explanation for their wives when they get home and there's no money for the wireless again.”